


Halfway

by narcolepticbadger



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Extended Scene, F/M, Missing Scene, POV Multiple, Romance, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:46:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2022213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcolepticbadger/pseuds/narcolepticbadger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they met, he saved her life. The second first time they met, he tried to kill her. And yet, here they are, standing in the rubble of what was City Hall, holding hands with a look in their eyes that says this is just the beginning. </p><p>[Outlaw Queen] Seven scenes from a slow courtship, told backwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halfway

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the scenes are rewrites of what we see in the show, others are completely new, and they span from Regina and Robin's first meeting in the Enchanted Forest to their defeat of Zelena in Storybrooke. They are presented in reverse chronology, end to beginning, because it seemed more interesting that way. Their relationship here moves much more slowly than in the show.
> 
> Each part/scene takes it title from a song. In order: "Holocene" by Bon Iver, "The King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1" by Neutral Milk Hotel, "Apartment Story" by The National, "Howl" by Florence + the Machine, "Amsterdam" by Daughter, "Sea of Love" by The National, and "Samson" by Regina Spektor. 
> 
> Pretty long fic by my standards. Usages of "let it go" not intended to be references to Frozen. Hope you enjoy!

 

VII: saying nothing, that’s enough for me

It looked more like the apocalypse had descended on Storybrooke than the simple aftermath – well, not _simple_ considering the scale of the battle and how much magic had been involved – of a fight between two sisters.

The center of the city had been reduced to piles of loose rock and scattered glass, fires licking at the remains of burnt-out cars and building frames, and small groups of survivors looking for other survivors and leading them out of the worst of it.  Dust snowed the air, slowly erasing things like bloodstains and twisted metal as it settled in a fine layer of white.

Her magic still crackled around her like she wanted to keep fighting even though there was nothing left to fight. She heard him coming, boots sliding over the wreckage beneath them, knocking stones against each other in mini avalanches. He was surefooted and steady because that’s who he _was_ , and when he wrapped himself around her from behind, she sank back into him and let it go, let it all go. There were things to worry about and mourn and rebuild – later.

She turned in his arms and couldn’t explain how, but she swore she could hear his heartbeat without trying and felt her own ease to match his. And she wondered why they had waited so long. They moved together, closing the small distance between them until their lips met for the first time. It was neither long nor short, neither romantic nor devoid of passion. It was simply, at long last, a joining.

They pulled back slightly with this new understanding between them, holding hands as the dust settled around them and they began to see more clearly.

 

VI: and this is the room, one afternoon I knew I could love you

It’s impossible to ignore them sitting in the far corner of Granny’s diner, heads bent together over the files outspread on the table in front of them, in the booth that had very quickly become _their_ booth, though if you mentioned that fact to either of them they would look at you uncomprehendingly.

Emma was bent over a police report of her own, nursing a half-cold cup of hot chocolate. ‘Mills/Hood Investigation’ was neatly printed at the top of the page. She barely noticed Mary Margaret kiss her on the cheek as she slid into a chair next to her.

“Any progress on finding our Wicked Witch?”

“Depends what you mean by ‘progress.’ There’s a lot of information coming in, I just can’t tell how it’s all connected or if it’s even related to our problem or totally random.”

Mary Margaret reached over to skim through the latest report herself. The heading made her glance over at Regina and Robin before she took the rest in: documented witness statements, evidence photographs, summaries, each section of paperwork neatly filled out and signed off on by the appropriate parties.

She squinted up at Emma. “When did you get so professional?”

“Hey! I’ve always been professional.” Mary Margaret smirked, a look Emma had never before been sure that her mother’s face could make. “Okay, okay, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands since _those two_ decided to take over the investigation and left me sitting on the sidelines.”

Maybe it was because Emma had spoken a little too loudly, or because the bell above the door clanked as Tinkerbell let herself into the diner, but Regina finally looked up from her papers and, catching Emma and Mary Margaret staring, promptly narrowed her eyes at them in return. They quickly re-immersed themselves in report number five of the ‘Mills/Hood Investigation’ as Tink joined them.

“Mills and Hood,” Mary Margaret said slowly. “That sounds like a crime-fighting duo. You know, Holmes and Watson, Batman and Robin…”

“Mulder and Scully?” Emma supplied with a suggestively raised eyebrow, hoping her mom would get the reference. It was clear from Mary Margaret’s delighted grin that she did. “Well, they are kind of Mulder-and-Scully-ing this whole Wicked Witch situation. What do you think, Tink?”

Tink frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know. What’s a Mulder?”

Mary Margaret and Emma covered their giggles with a less-than-convincing coughing fit. Regina’s kept her eyes glued to the papers in front of her, but from the set of her shoulders Emma was sure she was using her freakishly good hearing to listen to them from across the room.

Mary Margaret finally composed herself enough to explain. “What Emma means is that Regina and Robin have more unresolved sexual tension between them than…than…” She looked at Emma for help, who shrugged. “Well, there’s just a lot of sexual tension there. Don’t you think?”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Tink’s eyes glittered with sudden, amused understanding. “Yes, they do have quite a lot of that, don’t they? Speaking of…”

All three, abandoning any attempt at discretion, stared as Robin gathered his and Regina’s coffee cups and moved to the counter to have them refilled. Tink took this opportunity to slip over to Regina’s table, smugness all over her face.

“Look, he knows how she takes her coffee!” Even in undertone, Mary Margaret’s voice had risen a full octave, and she practically clapped her hands, the way she always did when she thought something was adorable.

“Black like her heart?” Emma muttered back.

Mary Margaret slapped her on the arm “Emma! It’s sweet.” She paused to think, head cocked. “And her heart wasn’t nearly as black as I thought it would be, that time when she ripped it out and – ”

“Ew. Can we stop talking about people pulling out their vital organs?”

Meanwhile, Tink sat next to Regina and drawled, “So, you and Robin…”

Regina didn’t even bother looking up from her reading. “Are you trying to ask a question or make a statement? Either way, you’re going to have to add a few words.”

“You and Robin look pretty cozy over here.”

Regina snorted. “We work well together.”

“I heard you gave him your heart.”

Regina very slowly tilted her head to glare at Tink. “For _protection_. He’s good with a bow. What, you think I’m going to trust someone like _Charming_ with it?” She let her voice carry so that Mary Margaret was sure to hear. “By all means, let’s give an incredibly powerful magical object – the very one our Witch has been trying so hard to locate – to that incompetent fool. What could possibly go wrong?”

Regina’s sarcasm was as biting as ever, but Tink didn’t miss the way the other women’s hand clenched into the leather of the booth between them.

“Sure, protection,” Tink started, as Robin returned and set two brimming cups on the table. “ _That’s_ – ”

“Robin, we need to get going,” Regina cut in smoothly, already packing away the reports they had been poring over by the handful. “I think we were on to something yesterday, out by the abandoned granary on the west side. And since no one else seems to find this investigation important…” She managed to shoot significant looks at Tink, Mary Margaret, and Emma all at once despite how far apart they were all sitting.  

“Uh.” Robin awkwardly glanced down at the untouched fresh coffee, then shrugged. “All right, if you think you’ve got something.”

They exited the dinner, and Regina slammed the door so hard behind her that Emma couldn’t believe all the glass stayed in place.

Mary Margaret slumped back, disappointed, in her seat. “So much for that.”

“You never know, ‘abandoned granary’ _could_ be a euphemism for something a little more sexy.” She made eye contact with Tink and playfully flicked her finger in and out of the closed circle of her other hand.

Mary Margaret’s eyes went huge. “Emma!”  


  
V: be still for a second while I try and try to pin your flowers on

Regina strode quickly through the forest, looking for the man who had her heart. She didn’t feel the way branches slapped against her as she pushed forward, or the way she kept stumbling over roots and undergrowth – she didn’t feel much at all, honestly, but she was pretty sure it was only the adrenaline still surging through her and not something more serious like nerve damage.

Robin trained his bow on the source of the noise as it – she – trampled through the tall ferns in front of him and finally came to a stop.

“Regina?” he asked cautiously, reluctant to lower his weapon. He hadn’t expected any company out here tonight, especially hers. “Did the fight, uh, go okay?” That was a stupid question. He knew it was a stupid question.

She stepped forward slowly, making no answer, the light from his fire gradually climbing up her face, and when he saw her eyes he began to suspect that things weren’t entirely _okay_.

She looked half-wild. Beautiful, as always, her makeup still perfectly intact, but wild all the same, and perhaps a little lost. Her eyes were too dark somehow, her body too rigid, and the dim light caught strangely in her hair and clothes, glittering back at him in tiny stars. Moving closer, he realized that it was glass.

There was glass everywhere. He plucked a shard the size of his thumbnail out of her hair and held it up between them – not quite an accusation, but definitely a question.

“She threw me through the clock tower.” Regina winced after she said it, her expression wry. “There’s no way to make that sound better, is there?”

“No,” he chuckled. “But it does sound damned impressive, and you weren’t even trying.” The reality of her words set in a beat later, and he gave a wince of his own. “Also, painful. It most definitely sounds painful. Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said as he tilted her chin up to see her eyes again. He didn’t find the lie there, but his eyes moved over her anyway, finding the small traces of blood behind her ear and at the edge of her sleeve and noting the tears in her clothes. He thought the jacket looked like it had taken most of the damage, but the blood underneath worried him. He ran his fingers along her arm wordlessly, stopping at the largest tear in the fabric.

She rolled her eyes.

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked lightly, intending to take a look whether she gave consent or not.

“Are you asking me to take off my clothes?” Her arms crossed over her chest.

Her boldness caught him off guard, as always. He had to turn his head to the side, embarrassed by the way his cheeks flushed like a lovesick boy’s, embarrassed by her suggestion and his reaction and most of all by his desire to say _yes_.

“No, m’lady,” he growled, slipping back into formality because at least there he knew where he stood. “I’m asking you to let me check for injuries so that I’m not blamed for your death if you should suddenly keel over whilst playing the hero.”

 _That_ made her react. He knew how to make her angry, at least. He knew other things too, and he wasn’t entirely sure why, but there were boundaries here that neither of them were willing to cross, even if they did keep tiptoeing along the fences.

She took her jacket off as aggressively as one could take a jacket off, flinging glass in all directions. Her dress underneath had short sleeves and a lower neckline than he was used to, giving him a fair view of cleavage as well as the half-dozen bleeding cuts scattered across her body, mostly on her arms.

“Why didn’t you heal yourself?”

“I did.” She spoke quietly, thoughtfully, and he regretted asking. “But my magic is low and healing was never my strong suit, so…” She shrugged. “I took care of the worst of them. These are just scratches.”

He guided her closer to the fire and saw that she was right. None of them even needed stitching. So he set about cleaning them, washing the blood off some and stopping the blood flow from others. He was focused on his work, but that didn’t stop him from noting other marks on her body, other scars. It was another thing they had in common.

 As he bandaged the worst cut, just above her elbow, his hands brushed past the faint line of a scar traveling long and thin up her forearm. It was crooked and, somehow, endearing.

“There must be a good story behind this one,” he said, just for something to say.

“I’m sure there is.”

“But…?”

“But…I don’t remember.”

He let it drop without comment, unsure if she was simply deflecting the question because she didn’t want to speak of the past, or if she was alluding to the fact that she had so many scars, she couldn’t possibly remember the origins of them all. Either way, it was not territory he was willing to tread.

“You know,” he started, sitting back on his heels to signal that he had finished, “wandering around with strange men in the middle of the night is a sign of head injury.”

“Good thing you’re not a strange man.” She smiled at him. “And I would hardly call this wandering.”

“Oh? Then why did you come here tonight?”

“To see if my heart was still safe.”

“And are you satisfied?”

“Yes.” She gestured to the bandages on her arms with a smirk that told him she thought he had overreacted just a little. “Are you?”

“Yes.” He wouldn’t apologize.

“Then our business here is complete.”

They stood up together, nearly knocking heads because she was exhausted and he was suddenly clumsy. He opened his mouth to say some sort of goodbye, but the words didn’t come quickly enough and she was already walking away. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Are you coming?” She had stopped just outside the circle of light his fire gave off, half-lost in the shadows.

“Coming where?”

“For that drink you owe me.” She didn’t look back to see if he would follow. He did, hardly aware he was moving until the light from the fire stopped illuminating his steps and he had to rely on sound and touch to keep up.

Gods be good, he was in trouble.

 

IV:  starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

That man had had the gall to shoot an arrow at her, and then pretend that it had been an accident. Please. She had seen the smugness in his face when he knew who she was, when he introduced himself so proudly as a common thief, when he called her _evil_. At least she had caught the arrow, and, more importantly, caught the reluctant acknowledgement and approval that showed briefly in the twist of his mouth before he could hide it.

Still, the _presumption_ :

“Well, then, you’ve got yourself a partner.”

“Certainly not. I don’t need anyone who smells like _forest_ trailing along behind me with a weapon as useless as _yours_.”

He gestured to the trees around them. “What better camouflage than to smell like a forest _while we’re actually in a forest_?” She sniffed, unimpressed. “And who says my weapon is useless?”

She cocked her head at him and spoke slowly, trying to convey exactly how stupid he was. “Have you ever tried to use a crossbow against magic? Hint: it’s not very effective.” And she began to walk away, pleased to have settled that so quickly.

“Surely everyone has a weakness?” He called after her – well, it wasn’t exactly a call, it sounded more like he was speaking from a few steps behind her, which meant that the cretin intended to follow her. Of course. “Love, fire, a particular liking for small animals? Maybe this witch’s is a well-placed arrow.”

“It’s still a no,” she said, not bothering to look back.

“With those monkeys on the loose, we’re not supposed to go bounding off alone.” He fell into step next to her.

“You’re one to talk,” she shot at him darkly.

“You must admit, it makes sense to track in teams with someone who can protect you.”

“Shame to be paired up with you, then.” Honestly, he made such an easy target.

He clutched his chest, pretended to stagger beside her. “A hit, a palpable hit!” And he laughed.

The sound, deep and rich and _happy_ , struck something inside her, and she felt herself smiling in return, carefully angling her head so that he wouldn’t notice. She let him pull slightly ahead of her so that she could study him inconspicuously. He kept up a steady stream of chatter on his own, because of course he would.

He did have a way with words and an air of capability, _and_ he had quoted Shakespeare. He also looked her in the eye when they spoke. Perhaps this Robin wasn’t such a cretin after all.

 

III: restlessly seeking images a child needs to help them sleep

“Roland would like to invite you – ” he had stopped abruptly as Roland elbowed him in the knee. “I mean, Roland _and I_ would like to invite you on a picnic. Tomorrow.”

She didn’t know what had possessed her to say yes. Probably the fact that Roland was adorable and seemed to enjoy her company, which was certainly a rarity these days. Yes, she had definitely agreed for Roland’s sake.

Robin had called after her, “You may want to wear something a little less…” His hand turned and fiddled in the air as he tried to think of an appropriate way to finish his thought. “Queen-ish,” he settled on. “Something practical.”

And here she was, wearing simple clothes borrowed from Snow: flat boots, tight-fitting riding breeches, and a linen shirt under a vest. She had decided to wear her hair in a single braid down her back and had been forced to recruit Snow for help finishing it off when she realized her arms couldn’t quite reach the end. She sometimes forgot how long her hair was here.

They didn’t talk as Snow deftly worked the braid through her fingers. Regina knew the hair and clothes made her look remarkably as she did when they were both a good deal younger, before queenships and curses and the thousand other things that lied between them in the silence. Snow looked more like her younger self, too. It was strange being back in the Enchanted Forest for both of them, and maybe it would have helped to talk about things, but there were still so many pitfalls in bringing up their shared past that they didn’t know _how_ , so they just…didn’t.

“So. A picnic.”

Regina rolled her eyes. Snow made it obvious, time and time again, that she thought something was going on between Regina and Robin. Or, if it wasn’t, that it should be. It was so like Snow – always writing fairy tales in her mind and giving people happy endings they didn’t deserve. Hopeless girl.

“Yes. A picnic.” Two could play the let’s-state-the-obvious game just as well as one.

Surprisingly, Snow let it go at that. “You look nice,” was all she said, quietly, resting a soft hand on Regina’s shoulder.

“I have to go. They’ll be waiting for me.”

She found Robin and Roland at the far edge of camp after enduring countless stares and dropped jaws from the motley assortment of men gathered around small cooking fires. “What, you’ve never seen a woman wear pants before?” she muttered, mostly to herself.

Father and son also stared at her, but in a gentler way. Robin even looked slightly impressed with just how unqueen-ish she had managed to make herself. He held a bulging cloth bag loosely over one shoulder, ostensibly their lunch.

Roland hurried forward to grab her hand and began leading her, Robin falling in on her other side.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a place Roland – _we_ – want to show you.” He didn’t look at her when he talked, and Regina suddenly wished Roland had stayed between them to fill the awkward space there.

They walked for at least a half hour. Roland kept tugging her hand and pointing out things seemingly at random: his favorite tree, a patch of fallen pinecones, a weirdly shaped rock, another favorite tree. They stopped at the base of a thick-trunked tree, its roots crawling madly across the forest floor before they sunk deep into the earth.

“Here we are.”

Regina stupidly glanced around. The point where they had stopped looked no different than any other place they had passed along the way. Roland had already scampered over to the huge tree, hugging his arms around its base with a fervor that made Regina concerned about his mental health. She was in a forest. With forest men. Of course they would go around hugging trees.

Robin smiled at her confusion and pointed one finger to the sky. “We eat up there.”

She arched her back to look up, and up, squinting against the brightness of the sun and a brief wave of vertigo. Far above them in the canopy of branches was an oddly flat, dark shape, as if someone had lain lumber down across several branches to make a sort of nest. She smiled slowly: a tree house. Her gaze lowered slightly, trying to connect tree house to branch, branch to ground. There was no ladder.

“Well?” Robin, with Roland already settled comfortably on his shoulders, gestured towards the tree. He saw her hesitation and misinterpreted it. “Would you like a boost?”

She shook her head, hoping her face wasn’t as red as she imagined. “I’ve never climbed a tree before,” she mumbled reluctantly.

Robin took a physical step backwards, almost comical in his disbelief. “Really? Never?”

Regina fixated on an acorn by the toe of her boot. “My mother thought such activities were not suitable for young ladies.”

She waited for Robin to laugh at her. Instead, he simply said, “Then I’ll go first. I know the way.”

He pulled himself and Roland and their lunch up onto one of the wide, lower branches with ease. Then he reached his hand down to her, offering help. “Step where I step. And don’t look down.”

“I’m not afraid of heights.”

“Even so, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

And so he guided her up the tree. Her legs were shorter and her hands smaller than his, but when she faltered, looking for a nearer foothold to use, he was always reaching back for her. And with his hands as sturdy as the wood surrounding them, she found it easy to trust him.

They came upon the tree house sooner than she expected, and he steadied her as she found her footing again on a more solid surface. Roland was ecstatic, clapping and crowing to the birds that he had seen _the queen_ climb a tree. The view was another first. Green leaves spread out below them in every direction, occasionally cut through by a path or road.

They sat down and ate, focusing mostly on Roland, who was carrying a good ninety percent of the conversation by himself. It was Roland she came for, after all.

There was a moment when they looked up from their apples at the same time, and content to let Roland ramble on, had a conversation of their own.

“You built this for him?”

“After a fashion. It’s also dead useful as a lookout point for hunting or…escaping from the queen’s men.”

They both smiled at that. Soon enough, Roland was back at her ear, wondering if he could tell her a secret. She thought of another boy who used to tell her secrets and swallowed hard, once, pushing it away.

She leaned down so Roland could whisper to her. He cupped his hand, and in a whisper pitched loud enough for the birds two trees over to hear, said, “Daddy says he likes your hair down like that. You should do it – ”

“Roland!” Robin quickly pulled the boy into his lap in a show of mock outrage, stifling Roland’s giggles with a large hand. The embarrassment coloring his cheeks, however, was real. “You may tell people your own secrets, but telling the secrets of other people is bad form, mate.” Roland nodded once, emphatically, to show that he understood.

Conversation after that revelation was hopeless. Regina felt both pleased and self-conscious. They soon decided to descend in order to return to the others before dark.

Robin and Roland again went first. “At least I’ll provide a nice cushion for you if you fall, my lady,” he told her.

Going down was no more complicated than climbing up, though significantly slower. It was strange to be returned to the ground and to see how high they had been. Roland was tiring, and he stayed on Robin’s shoulders as they began their leisurely stroll past the now familiar landmarks of Sherwood.

The back of his hand brushed against hers for a few steps, and their fingers tangled. It was a light touch, the barest of contact, and Regina wasn’t sure exactly who had touched who first. But now they were both holding on, gently, gently like the soft give of dandelion heads under a spring breeze, only untangling once they walked back into the noise and human chaos of the camp.

 

II: tell me how to reach you

Regina spent most of her nights alone after forcing herself to eat with the others. It was mostly by choice. She could start a fire by herself after all, and most of the people she was surrounded by annoyed her half to death. But she wouldn’t deny that no one was exactly seeking out her company either. She worked with Snow and Charming and the others when she needed to, but relations were still fraught with tension. She could read the distrust in everyone’s faces.

Tonight she had lit her fire and now sat staring into the flames. She wished she had something to do with her hands. One of the men cleared his throat behind her, and she turned around to glare at him in a way they found particularly fearsome – she had mastered it on their first day back – but stopped in surprise when she saw that it was Robin himself. He was always busy. With his men, with his child. Usually the others were left to deal with her.

“I hope you’ll excuse me for disturbing you. I thought you might like a blanket.”

“I have a fire.” She pointed helpfully at the flames in front of them.

He raised an eyebrow. “I see that.” He moved closer to her, sharing her circle of firelight. “Unless you plan on staying up all night, that fire will go out. And then where will you be without a blanket?”

“I seem to have survived without a blanket rather well so far.”

“As you say. But it was Roland who noticed the oversight today, and he sent me to make amends. He sent this too.” Robin held out the stuffed flying monkey she had made.

“Didn’t he like it?”

Robin grinned, moving so easily between gravity and humor that it seemed like a magic trick. “He’s crazy about it. But he thinks the queen might get lonely, as well as cold, during the night, so he has chosen to share it just this once.”

Clever. She could not refuse such a gift. She took the blanket and monkey without further comment and waited, sure that Robin would retreat from her circle and rejoin the others. He stood, gazing thoughtfully at her or maybe at the flames.

“You didn’t eat much tonight. You never do.” He directed his words at the fire.

“Surely you have better things to do than analyze my eating habits.”

He shrugged. “You didn’t even stay for dessert. That’s the best part.” He saw her skeptical expression and continued, “Trust me, I _know_ my men’s cooking. Sometimes the dessert is the only edible part.”

Again, like magic, he produced a small apple pie, still warm and fragrant, from somewhere and set it carefully beside her. “You should eat it while it’s still hot.” He walked away.

“Is this from Roland too?” she called after him.

“No. That’s from me.”

The next morning Snow was making googly eyes at her. Predictable. That girl had a knack for watching Regina and Robin from afar and twisting every conversation or moment of cooperation into schoolgirl declarations of love.

“Don’t start.”

“All I’m saying is that Robin didn’t offer anyone else a blanket.”

 

I: your hair was long when we first met

“Get down!”

A man came from nowhere and shot at the flying whatever-it-was above them, driving it back into the sky. And then he held his hand out to her, and that wouldn’t do at all.

She forced herself up, steady as a god rising new-made from the earth, holding her trembling somewhere where no one would see, covering it like she covered the fresh wound on her arm. They could see her anger. They could see her head lifted defiantly to him. That, and nothing else.

Snow took over with her pleasantries and thanks, and Regina was grateful to be left alone. She stormed off as soon as she could, only to find Snow trailing in her footsteps and talking about the thief with words like _eyes_ and _cute_ and _gentleman_. It was all she could do not to strangle the girl right there.

They pressed hard that day, and everyone was exhausted by the time the sky darkened enough at the edges for them to call it off and set up camp.

She watched the bustle of so many men efficiently preparing for the night slightly removed from the others. She was good at ignoring things, but now that the day was quietening down, the pain in her arm was making itself known. She would have to do something about that.

She found something far more practical and not-quite-hideous to change into for the night and began removing her heavy cloak, her jewelry, everything until only her dress remained. Her hair trailed halfway down her back. She winced slightly at the amount of dried blood she saw there. Her sleeve was basically glued to her skin. She needed water.

She slipped away from the camp looking for the fresh water supply they were using to water the horses. It was deserted, thankfully. She sank down beside the stream and lowered her arm in, shuddering at the coldness. Perhaps the water would help numb the wound as well as loosen the dried blood.

She sat this way for a few minutes, eyes glazed over in thought, before she couldn’t stand the cold any longer. She tugged gently at the edge of the sleeve – the water had helped, but not nearly enough. She decided to pull the remnants of the sleeve away all at once. Like pulling off a bandaid. _Well, here goes…_

That hurt. So much for the numbing effects of the water. She hadn’t made a sound, but blood pounded loudly in her head, and she startled badly when someone spoke from just behind her.

“Ah, sorry, bad timing.” The voice sounded pained on her behalf. A hand grazed against her back. It was _that_ man. Robin bloody-lowlife-thief Locksley. She really, really wanted him to just walk away and pretend this wasn’t happening.

“You _do_ realize that you’re bleeding rather badly, right?” She looked down to see that it was true. She had pulled off all of the clotted blood along with her sleeve, and fresh blood was flowing fast down to the ground underneath her.

Seeing that she wasn’t responding, he slowly wrapped a hand around her arm, just above the elbow, and maneuvered her upright. “C’mon. That needs to be seen to.” His voice was hot and gruff in her ear.

She struggled weakly in his grip, trying to break free. “Unhand me! I’m not a child,” she spat at him.

“No, you’re not.” He loosened his grip slightly. “I’ll walk away if you tell me to. Or we can sit down here and take care of it before you collapse from blood loss. Your choice.”

There was a long silence. He was warm and damnably _right_ and her body leaned back into him without much input from her brain. She nodded.

He looked questioningly at the sky and muttered, “The light’s not good. Maybe we should…” He nudged his head in the direction of camp.

She concentrated on the low tree stump three paces away from them and smirked at his expression when it burst into flame. “That enough light for you?”

“I daresay.”

He settled them both close to the fire and bent over her arm, applying pressure and cleaning the rough edges, sometimes flicking glances at her face to see if she was okay.

“This needs stitching,” he announced finally.

“How’s your needlework?”

“Not bad, actually.” He smiled at her surprise. “I have a son. His clothes are always desperately in need of repair, and as there are no women amongst us…I’ve gotten a lot of practice.”

He reached into one of his uncountable pockets and produced a needle and thread. He heated the needle close to the flames until it burned red, singing his fingers in the process. “Ready?”

She tried not to think about what she knew now about germs and unsanitary needles as he began stitching. His stitches were small and neat, if a little crooked here and there.

“I’ve never seen anyone react so calmly to a wound like this before,” he said without looking up from his work.

“This? This is nothing.”

He looked up then, his mouth twisted with something like chastisement. “Hardly nothing.” But his eyes were filled with understanding, like he knew what she meant about degrees of pain. Perhaps he had lost something, somebody too.

They sat quietly for a minute before he excused himself. “I need to tuck in my son for the night. You’ll be all right?”

She waved him on but made no move to get up herself.

He was already out of sight when he threw his last words carelessly over his shoulder, not bothering to see how they landed. “If I don’t see you in camp in five minutes, I’m coming back for you.”

“Okay,” she said.


End file.
